


I Want to Be His

by samagotchi



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Sex, Barebacking, Biting, Breathplay, Choking, Crying, Cumming Hands Free, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Emotional Manipulation, Extremely Dubious Consent, Face-Fucking, Fucking, Hands Free Orgasm, Humiliation, Kissing, M/M, Manhandling, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Pain, Pain Kink, Painful Sex, Painplay, Power Imbalance, Prostate Stimulation, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rough Body Play, Rough Kissing, Rough Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Size Difference, Size Kink, Skull Fucking, Slapping, Spanking, Spit As Lube, Spit Kink, Throat Fucking, Unsafe Sex, Verbal Humiliation, degradation kink, rough anal sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-25
Updated: 2020-03-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:01:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23318770
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samagotchi/pseuds/samagotchi
Summary: Peter gives Quentin control of EDITH but Quentin wants more. Much more.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Quentin Beck, Quentin Beck/Peter Parker
Comments: 15
Kudos: 216





	I Want to Be His

**Author's Note:**

> Quarantine has changed my brain. I rewatched Far From Home and this is all I could think of, so I had to write it down. I apologise in advance. ALSO we’re just gonna headcanon that Peter is 18 in this fic, okay? Okay.

“You try ‘em on.” Peter enthused, taking the EDITH glasses from his face and waving them lazily in front of Beck. 

“No. Come on!” Quentin faked a chuckle, seeing how easily he’d been able to manipulate the younger hero. How quickly he’d got the boy wrapped around his finger.

“Try ‘em on!” He insisted. Quentin shook his head, murmuring rebuttals. He looked into Peter’s eyes. Wide, puppy dog eyes. He was attractive, for his age. He could see why Stark liked him. But god, was he naive. He really was just going to hand them over to him this easily. How fucking naive. 

“Alright, alright!” Quentin took the sunglasses from the outstretched hand, unfolded the arms and sat them on the bridge of his nose. He looked up at the kid, eyebrows raised. He looked almost seductive. “Whadda ya think, kid?” Peter’s expression shifted. No longer grinning, his brow furrowed. He whipped his head away, muttering to himself.

“For the next Tony Stark, I trust you.” Beck’s heart accelerated, hearing the name.

“What?” Disbelief masked as confusion. Was the boy really this fucking stupid? 

“Mister Stark left me a message with those glasses - ‘For the next Tony Stark, I trust you.” Peter’s speech was quickening, thoughts pouring from his mouth before he had time to process them. It was endearing. Annoying, but endearing.

“I’m still not following.” Beck lied, he knew exactly what Peter was thinking. “How many lemonades have you had?” The joke didn’t even register.

“He knew all the mistakes I ever made, okay? So he must’ve known that I’m not ready for something like this.” Perfect, Quentin triumphed silently. The teen didn’t even trust himself, no wonder he depended on his precious mentor so much. And no wonder Beck had him right where he wanted him. 

“So why would he give it to you?”

“Because maybe he didn’t trust me to have EDITH, he just trust me to pick who should.” His words came a mile a minute, barely pausing to breathe. “It makes so much more sense. He always knew I would do what’s right.” Quentin held back a laugh. “And he’s not gonna give them to Fury because Fury would just give himself EDITH.” 

“You’re probably right about that.” Quentin interrupted, swallowing thick hatred for yet another man who worshipped Stark. 

“Right? So the world needs the next Iron Man, and it’s not gonna be me - I mean, I’m an 18 year old kid from Queens. It needs to be an adult. With some experience. A-and thats’s good like Tony Stark. Like you.” He paused, breathlessly. His brown eyes wide, boring into Quentin’s own. He was desperate. Fucking helpless, the older man thought, just a fucking helpless little kid.

“No, Peter. Come on.” He swiped the glasses from his face, pressing them into the smaller palms. “No.” 

Before he could register the boy’s movements, Peter had slipped the glasses onto his own face.

“EDITH? Hi. Yeah, um, I’d like to transfer your control over to Quentin Beck.” His heart pounded. Finally. 

“Peter, what are you doing?” He protested, lamely. 

“I’m doing the right thing.” Pathetic. The robotic voice of the glasses asked for confirmation.

“Stark gave YOU the glasses!”

“Stark gave me a choice! It’s my choice to make, okay? And I’m gonna make it.” He was cute when he tried to assert himself. It highlighted how weak he truly was. How vulnerable. “Look, you’re a soldier. A leader. You stopped the Elementals, you saved my life,” He gestured outwards,” you saved the world! Okay? He’d want you to have ‘em!” Quentin heard the monotonous request for confirmation, low in the hum of the bar. “Confirm.” Peter gave a firm nod, handing the glasses to Beck, “Welcome to the Avengers.” He placed them on his face. Then he said it.

“They look good on you.”

Fuck. Was the kid flirting? What a fucking slut! Quentin’s pants tightened. His mind swirled with images of the boy on his knees. Begging. He wanted him, he really fucking wanted him. Jesus, did the kid just give it up to anyone in power above him? Maybe he had a thing for it. His mouth would look so pretty stretched around his cock. 

“Thank you” He mustered, trying to keep his composure. He reached forward clasping the boy’s hand in a firm shake. Keep it cool, Beck. Don’t fuck this up over Stark’s little plaything. “It’s an honour.”

“Yeah” Peter replied, feebly. “Mr. Stark would’ve really liked you.” He said, getting up from the bar. He grabbed his backpack from the floor, not stopping to notice the telltale layer of dust coating the bottom. But Quentin did. He reached forward, clasping Peter’s bicep in his hand. It was firmer than he expected. 

“Wait. Don’t go.” Quentin cursed internally, he couldn’t help himself. “Have another - to celebrate!” A dopey smile spread across the teenager’s face. He nodded enthusiastically. Quentin loosened his grip on the limb, dropping his hand down to ghost Peter’s. “Or we could celebrate... another way?” His suggestive expression was met with one of confusion.

“Uh, w-what do you mean?” Peter’s cheeks blushed, his heart beginning to race.

“I think you know what I mean, Peter.” Quentin sneered, “You know exactly what I mean.” He clamped down onto the smaller hand, yanking the boy away from the bar. 

Projector drones flanked them, maintaining the illusion Beck had programmed to make Peter believe the rundown building they had drunk in was a running establishment. He clocked the confused expressions of his accomplices as he strode away from the bar. This wasn’t part of the plan, he knew, but he’d just claimed his prize - what harm would a victory lap do?

“Where are yo-“ He stopped in his tracks, cutting Peter off with a rough kiss. The boy melted beneath him. It was like nothing Peter had ever felt before. The slight chap of the older man’s lips against his own. The scratch of his stubble against his skin. He whimpered into the kiss, lips parting. Quentin’s tongue darted forward, invading his mouth. Peter raised his arms, draping them around the man’s shoulders. He had to lift his heels to reach. He closed his eyes as their saliva mixed, tongues lapping against one another. 

Quentin was the first to break, pulling his head away and scanned the bar. He glared back at the perturbed faces of his conspirators. They hastily looked away, knowing it was not wise to question Beck. Peter’s eyes fluttered open - he looked enamoured. Poor thing, Beck thought, he had no idea what he was in for. He turned around quickly, scanning the corridor for somewhere private. His eyes landed on a door to his right. He pulled on the handle, holding it open before him long enough to allow one of the cloaked drones to swoop in ahead of him. He hadn’t come this far for his manipulation to fail now. 

He followed the invisible projector into a small, sparsely lit room, dragging Peter behind him. He flung the boy forward, roughly. The sound of his body hitting the opposing wall reverberated around the room. His backpack slipped from his shoulder, landing with a thud next to his feet. The air shifted as Peter sensed a change in Beck’s demeanour. He watched as the man peered around the door frame back into the crowded bar. Muffled voices faded away as Quentin drew back, turning to face the young hero, and closing the door behind him, with a slam. 

Quentin glowered, taking strides across the room, closing the gap between them until he had Peter pressed up against the wall. Peter, not daring to make eye contact, felt the presence of Beck’s hand next to his head against the wall, the other snaked around his waist. Quentin’s fingers clamped down, gripping hard. His fingers dug into Peter’s abdomen, breaking the soft skin. A hiss escaped Peter’s gritted teeth. Beck lurched forward. The flat pad of his tongue traced a pulsing vein up Peter’s neck. His lips clamped down and he sucked hard, raising a dark red bruise on the boy’s pale skin. Eyes fluttering, Peter threw his head back, giving his new mentor as much access as he needed. Quentin seemed almost feral - frantically trying to get as much of Peter’s skin in his warm, wet mouth as he possibly could. Teeth scraping against his collarbone. Littering Peter’s throat with bruises.

Quentin angled his lips higher, the stubble of his beard scratching against Peter as he kissed along his jaw. Through half closed eyes, Quentin could see the boy’s open mouth - agape from soft moans and quick gasps at pleasures Beck was fairly certain he had never experienced before. How pathetic. From here his lips glistened in the light, Quentin noted, they’d look so pretty around his cock. 

He made his way up to the boy’s mouth and forced his tongue inside. He kissed him, sloppy and frantic. Carnal. Then just as suddenly pulled back, panting.

“Can’t fucking get enough of you, boy. Always teasing. Knowing all I can think about is pinning you down and fucking you ‘til you’re screaming my name.” A wave of confusion washed over Peter. He hadn’t teased Quentin, or at least he hadn’t meant to. Peter swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. Heat rose in his cheeks, flushing them red. Quentin leaned forward, his breath hot against Peter’s burning ears.

“Come on now, don’t act all innocent. You’ve wanted this too. Haven’t you? Since the day we met.” The older man’s voice was low and gravelly. His hand slipped from around Peter’s waist and snaked up to his chest. He could feel the boy’s heart pounding under his palm. Peter nodded - slow and unsure but consent enough for Beck to justify himself.

“Yes, s-sir.” Quentin’s ears pricked. He pulled back once again as Peter realised what he had said.

“Sir?” Beck smirked, eyebrow arched. “Now that, I could get used to.” He pawed at Peter’s shoulder, slipping off the outer layer of his new suit, provided by Fury. Underneath, a black compression shirt covered the boy’s body. It hugged his form, stretching tight against his surprisingly built shoulders. His biceps filled out the sleeves. 

“Wow, I can see why Stark liked you so much.” Quentin jabbed maliciously, taking pleasure in the sudden shift in Peter’s demeanour “I bet you were his best little cockslut, weren’t you?” He could see how the words stung him. Tears welled in the boy’s big eyes.

“It wasn’t - we never...” He trailed off looking defeated as Quentin palmed at his chest, kneading the mounds of lean muscle as he began to kiss Peter again. His other hand lifted from the wall to clasp the boy’s head. His fingers weaved through the soft, brown curls, then clamped down at the roots, locking a chunk of hair in his fist. 

Peter cried out. Tears spilled down flushed cheeks. He could feel his cock swelling between his legs despite the pain. He brought his hands behind the bigger man, wrapping them around his waist and pulling him closer. Quentin responded by taking Peter’s bottom lip between his teeth, rolling it gently before biting down, sending a jolt of pain through his jaw. Peter’s hands trailed up Quentin’s back, feeling his muscles shift beneath the skin as he kneaded the boy’s chest. Peter brought his hands to rest on Beck’s shoulders. 

“I want to fucking ruin you, Parker.” Quentin grunted, “You’re such a fucking slut.” His hands left Peter’s body. Without warning, Peter was pulled away from the wall. Quentin’s mouth went straight to his nipple, mouthing around as if he were making out with the nub through the stretchy Lycra of his shirt, drawing a moan from the young hero. He latched onto the nipple, swirling his tongue around it. Wetness gave way to hardness as he took it between his teeth. He pulled harshly, noting how Peter’s eyes clamped shut and his jaw slackened from the sensation. A whimper slipped between his lips. He noticed Peter’s fingers tugging gently at the hem of his shirt, and pulled back as the boy lifted the fabric over his head and discarded it on the floor. 

Peter stared at his mentor, panting. His pupils blown wide, his lips wet and eyes red and puffy. He looked wrecked, but Beck was far from done with him. Quentin fumbled at the back of his costume, pulling the zipper down, and shedding the fabric into a pool at his feet. Peter took in the sight. Quentin was much taller than him. His usually tousled hair now disheveled. Sweat laced his forehead. His pecs bounced as he flung the green bodysuit to the corner of the room. Dark hair covered the flushed skin of his chest, thinning at his abdomen and collecting around his navel in a thicker patch that lead down into his underwear. His erection strained at the fabric of his briefs. Peter willed his body to stop trembling, manually slowing his heaving breaths. Despite his efforts, his cock continued to grow harder.

Beck strode forward, effortlessly scooping up the younger boy. His hands engulfed Peter’s tight ass, highlighting the size difference between the two men. Peter’s dick twitched, leaking pre at the thought. He wrapped his legs around Quentin’s waist, rutting against the man’s stomach. He buried a moan in the nape of his neck. 

Quentin scanned the dank room for a surface to lay Peter on. Seeing a table against the wall opposite them, he silently hoped that Peter hadn’t begun to question the state of the room they were in. His plan would be foiled before he could even begin to take advantage of the needy teenager. And fuck, did he want to take advantage. 

He kissed him again, teeth clashing, tongues fighting. He threw the boy down onto the table, knocking the wind out of him, and stood over him. Heaving breaths. Like a predator standing over his prey.

“I’m gonna fuck you so hard. Do what Stark never had the nerve to do. You’re my whore, isn’t that right, Peter?” A fresh set of tears leaked down Peter’s cheeks as he felt his cock leak at Quentin’s degradation. Confusion flooded his head. Why was he so turned on? Quentin was prodding at fresh wounds. He was disrespecting Tony. He felt weak and helpless He should stop this, stand up to him. But he was so hard. He wanted more. 

A sharp slap to his cheek brought him back to attention.

“I said ‘You’re my whore, isn’t that right?’ Answer me.” Quentin growled, spit flying at Peter through his gritted teeth. He swallowed roughly and surrendered himself.

“Yes, sir.” 

“That’s better.” Beck bared in teeth in the shape of a smile, “Now let’s see what Stark had to play with.” He tugged at Peter’s trousers, working them down to his knees. He thumbed at the bulge between Peter’s thighs, a wet patch of pre-cum at it’s tip. Leaking already, just from Beck’s words. “Mmm, you look so good laid out like this for me. Just waiting for me to take you.” Peter turned his head away, stifling a moan.

The older man latched onto his hairless stomach - kissing, licking, mostly biting - moving his way down to the top of Peter’s underwear. He licked a thick stripe down the length of Peter’s cock, lapping up the pre-cum from the stained fabric. Peter’s hips bucked at the sensation. He’s fucking desperate for it, Quentin leered, Stark really lost out on this one. He removed contact, stepping back to revel in the sight of the boy bucking his hips up into the air. Frustration pained his tear stained face. 

“You’re so fucking sensitive. What are you? A Virgin?” He spat. The words hit Peter like venom. He buried his head in the crook of his neck as Beck’s laugh filled the room. “You are, aren’t you? God, no wonder you’ve been practically begging for it.” His cock twitched again, hips writhing involuntarily. Quentin palmed at his own erection, satisfied with how easily he had been able to control the boy. How quickly he had seduced him, made him bend to his will. How easy it had been to get the glasses from the boy. He quickly stopped jerking himself, almost cumming from the thought.

“Come on, Petey. Moan for me. I know what you want, just tell me.” Quentin purred, pulling at the waistband of his briefs. Peter gaped as he watched Beck’s cock spring free from the material. Another slap. This time on his stomach. “I won’t ask again.”

“P-please, Mister Beck, I uh- I want you.” Quentin nodded, leading him on, “Want you to to uh, fuck me. Make me your who- make me your whore. Please, M-mister Stark.”

“Oooh.” Quentin bellowed, “Well, well, well.” Peter trembled, shocked to silence by the slip of his tongue. Quentin moved towards him, crouching by his head. He leaned towards Peter, voice low, “You want Stark? Huh? You want him to kiss you? Hold you? You don’t deserve that. You’re a fucking faggot. You’re a hole to be fucked. Tony never took advantage of that. He was weak. Pathetic. But I’m not. I’m going to fuck you until your hole is gaping, leaking and you’re begging me for more.” 

The words rang in Peter’s ears. His eyes blown out in pure lust, his head swimming with shame, regret and arousal. He wanted this. It was what he deserved.

“Wanna show me what you can do with that mouth?”

Without warning, Quentin pulled Peter’s head down off the table and rammed his cock into the boy’s mouth, hitting his tonsils. Peter gagged, unable to breathe. His cries blocked by the appendage in this throat. He felt Quentin’s hands wrap around his neck as he began to thrust his hips back and forwards, balls slapping against Peter’s forehead. Quentin tightened his grip on the boy’s throat as Peter writhed beneath him, his body crying out for oxygen. Black spots began to form in the periphery of his vision as he began to lose consciousness. 

Quentin pulled out. His cock swung between his legs, strings of saliva dripped from it trailing a path back to Peter’s fucked out mouth. The boy coughed beneath him, gasping for air. Beck looked down at him, disappointed.

“You should work on that. You’re shit at it.” Quentin sneered, trying to hide his arousal. He really could do anything he wanted with the boy he was so... compliant. He took Peter’s nipple between his fingernails, twisting as hard as he could. Peter cried out but did nothing to protest. Quentin slapped down on his chest. The sound echoed through the room. Peter’s vision blurred from the tears in his eyes. He whimpered. A red handprint forming on his pale chest. 

“Roll over.” Quentin ordered. Peter mustered all his strength, and flipped himself onto this stomach. The hard wood uncomfortably cold against his bare, raw skin. His hips bucked forward as his erection found slight friction against the table.

Another slap, this time against his ass. The noise he made was somewhere between a moan and a cry, he didn’t know which of the two it was supposed to be. 

“Look at you, boy. So fucking needy. You can’t fucking help yourself, can you? Fucking slut. You don’t get to get off from this, Parker. This is for me. You can cum when I say you can. That is, if I say you can.” Jolts of electricity ran through Peter’s body, reverberating right back to his groin. A broken whine rattled his throat. Quentin’s cock hung in front of his face. Leaking a steady stream on pre-cum. Peter strained forward, darting his tongue out to catch the translucent liquid. 

“Good boy. Now you’re getting it.” Beck patted his head condescendingly. Peter licked at the tip of the throbbing erection before him gingerly. He slackened his jaw, taking just the head between his lips and sucking softly. He pulled back again, pressing soft kitten licks to the head. “You can do better than that.” Quentin sighed. He sunk his hands into the boy’s curls, clamping down. Pulling his skull forward, he forced his cock down Peter’s throat. Peter choked again, saliva flooding his mouth. His eyes burned.

“Relax your throat. Just take it. Breathe through your nose. Take my cock.” Peter gagged again. Quentin struck his cheek again, “Fucking take it.” He thrust forward, burying the younger hero’s nose in the thick patch of hair above his cock. Peter’s nostrils flared, taking in the scent of the older man and flooding his lungs with air. Quentin pulled back for a moment before thrusting forwards, filling the boy’s mouth again. He continued, finding a rhythm as Peter adjusted to the feeling. Saliva coated his lips and chin, glistening in the light. Bruises littered his flushed neck, and his cheeks burned a harsh red. He looked up at Beck through bloodshot, watery eyes. 

“So fucking pretty. Look so perfect choking on my cock. You wanted this so bad.” Quentin pulled out, his dick dripping with saliva, “I bet you look even prettier with your hole filled.” A string of vowel spilled from Peter’s lips. Beck made his away around the table, planting another slap to Peter’s ass. Peter barely flinched, so numb he almost couldn’t feel the sharp sting. With a jerk, Quentin pulled Peter down to the edge of the table. The boy’s legs hung limply, his toes barely touching the floor. 

Quentin gathered Peter’s underwear in his hands. He jerked his hands, tearing the fabric, exposing the boy’s ass. His cheeks had been slapped raw, burning red and hot to the touch. Quentin grabbed a handful, kneading the flesh in his palms. He spread the cheeks, exposing his hole. Peter winced as the cold air hit his bare opening. The pad of Quentin’s thumb ran across the ring of muscle. He watched it twitch - reacting to his touch. Quentin pursed his lips and spit. 

Peter gasped at the sensation, his hole clenched at the sudden wetness. Quentin thumbed over the opening again, spreading the saliva. He spit again, this time slowly allowing the liquid to form a long path from his mouth to the puckered muscle. 

“You wanna get fucked, boy? Want me to use you like a fuck toy? Like Stark never did?” He provoked. Peter’s reply was barely audible.

“Yes, sir.” His voice was timid and flat but it was all Quentin needed to hear. He spat on his hand, stroking his erection until it was slick. He lined his cock up to Peter’s unprepared hole and thrust forward.

Peter’s eyes clamped shut. Pain sparked through his body. He cried out, voice trembling. Quentin matched the noise with a moan of his own. He continued to pull out before sinking his cock deep back into Peter, stretching him around his member. He placed his hands on the boy’s waist, his fingers almost touching at his navel. He gripped Peter hard, plowing into him as deep as possible. The slapping of skin against skin filled the room, interrupted only by grunts and moans. Quentin’s fists tightened around the teenager’s frame, holding him down as he ploughed relentlessly, fucking the boy’s hole as deep as he could. 

“Gonna make sure you can still feel me tomorrow. Gonna make sure you can’t sit down or even walk without feeling me. When you’re on your little school trip, with all your friends I want you to be able to feel me and remember you’re just a filthy, little whore.” He pulled his pulsing cock all the way out of Peter before slamming back in, punctuating his last three words.

Sweat dripped from Quentin’s brow, his hair hanging in loose strands down his matted forehead. He reached forward, placing a firm grip on Peter’s thin wrists and pulling the boy’s arms behind him, lifting his chest from the table and forcing his body down deeper onto his cock, colliding with Peter’s prostate. The boy’s spine arched, almost instinctively. His eyes rolled back, jaw hanging loosely as Quentin buried his erection into him. A prolonged whine fell from his lips as the older man’s cock brushed against the bundle of nerves. Peter’s body sparked with electricity. He came without touch, cock pulsing between his crotch and the table - shooting ropes of cum into his underwear. 

Beck continued to fuck him furiously, watching the teen’s flaming cheeks bounce with each thrust. Quentin threw his head back, muttering insults and obscenities incomprehensibly under his breath. With each thrust of Quentin’s hips, Peter’s own cock was pushed against the hard table beneath him shooting waves of arousal through his body. He winced, cock sore from over-stimulation. Quentin felt a familiar heat begin to build in his crotch, balls tightening. 

“Beg for it, bitch.” Quentin ordered, slapping down on Peter’s ass, “Beg for my cum.”

“P-please, sir, I want it. Want... cum.” Peter slurred, intoxicated on lust and pain.

“Call me- call me Stark.” Beck spat, watching his member appear and disappear back into Peter’s loosening hole. He could see the muscle twitching around his cock. 

When Peter spoke his voice was quiet, almost disembodied. His throat was hoarse.

“Please, Mister Stark.” Quentin came almost immediately with a growl. Spurts of cum shot from his the man’s thick cock, filling Peter’s hole. It felt good inside the boy - warm.

Quentin pulled out, still leaking his seed. Panting, he looked down at his work - the raw, puckered skin between Peter’s cheeks. His used hole gaped. Cum leaked from the hollow muscle, catching the light as it dripped down Peter’s smooth taint to his balls. The searing pain of Peter’s wrecked hole settled into dull ache which spread across his entire body, lingering in the teen’s groin, his own member slick and dripping through the thin fabric of his underwear.

“Get up. You look like a mess.” Quentin demeaned. Peter wiped at his soaked cheeks with the back of his hand, choking back a sob. He struggled, lifting his chest from the table, arms shaking under his own weight. He lowered one foot to the floor, wincing as the contact reinvigorated the sharp pain in his ass. A thin string of cum tethered him to the table. He could feel Quentin’s eyes on him as he pulled his trousers up to his waist, the uncomfortable wetness of both his ass and his cock immediately soaking through the black fabric. He scanned the room, unable to locate his shirt. 

“Here, kid.” Quentin threw the bundle of fabric towards him. It hit his arm and fell to the floor. Peter picked it up and slipped the shirt over his head. “That was hot, right? We should do it again, next time.” His voice was different now. Back to being warm, even charming. The shift chilled Peter to the bone. He nodded wordlessly. He quickly fumbled around, slinging his backpack onto his shoulder and picking up the armoured jacket that completed his outfit, before slipping out of the door. 

Peter raced through the now empty bar, tears prickling once again, blurring his vision. He made it out onto the cobbled street before breaking down. Tears poured from his eyes, his whole body shaking with each sob. Images of the night ran through his mind. His hands balled into fists, he pounded at his temples trying to beat out the voice in his head. He sunk to his knees, defeated. I need him inside me again. I want to be his.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading x
> 
> tmhllnd.tumblr.com


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